Second Kisses
by hevaann
Summary: There was no place for a second kiss until it was too late and there was nothing left to lose… Ian/Mickey


**Second Kisses**

A Gallavich FanFiction

_There was no place for a second kiss until it was too late and there was nothing left to lose…_

:-:

You're not sure why you did it, just the thought of someone else touching Ian makes you burn inside and so, knowing there was no opportunity to actually fucking talk about it, you ran back to the van and pressed your lips to his.

And while you weren't expecting fireworks or anything, there is no denying that feeling in the pit of your stomach when you taste him in your mouth, and it is like you can't get out of there fast enough. You flip him off because some things can never change. Plus the way he looked at you for a second there made your heart do things that you are sure it is not supposed to do.

When you get back to the vehicle, this time with bullets in your ass, you think that maybe he is too worried to drive – which isn't exactly in your fucking favour right now – but then he gets his head together and pulls the van out of there. You're glad your head is so near his thigh because that smell is like an anaesthetic, and the smell of his neck keeps you breathing when he carries you back into the house. You grab onto the back of his shirt and feel his skin against your fingertips, and maybe if your cousins weren't with you and you hadn't been shot, then maybe you would have kissed him again there and then. But you don't.

You lie awake thinking of him that night. There are stitches in your ass and yet all that you can concentrate on is the second when you pressed your lips to his – that taste of tobacco and desperation. And you hope you can blame the thoughts on painkillers and alcohol, but when you dream it is of him and there is nowhere to hide.

You don't see him for a few days, but when you do he is quick to pull you into the back room at the _Kash and Grab_. He doesn't mention the kiss, and you kinda wish he would 'cause there is no way you are bringing it up, but then he is on his knees sucking you off and for those few moments you are incapable of thinking anything. His hands are on your hips, careful to avoid the injured cheek, and when you come you are unable to take your eyes off his lips. Usually he spits you out, but this time he is drinking you down and licking you clean, and you have never wanted to taste his lips so much. You still don't.

Instead you smirk at him and he pushes you down as he stands up; and you are more than happy to settle for blowing him instead. Just as long as your lips are on him somewhere.

Sometime later you pluck up the courage to invite him over while your family is out of town, and although you act like it is a spur of the moment question, you know he can see right through you. He always does. And you should really hate that, but you don't. You don't pull him close to wipe that smile off his face either; you imagine it but don't give into it. It's not what you do.

You sort of make him dinner, if you can call it that, and when he collapses on the sofa next to you you think how easy it would be to lean over and kiss him. You think if he spots you staring he might initiate it, but he never tries – not in over a year now – and you find you miss those vain attempts of his. You briefly wonder if this is a date, curled up on the sofa watching a movie, but then his hand finds your thigh and it is all about sex again.

You wake before he does and want to hate yourself for the way you are watching him. You have never woken next to someone before – usually you can't boot them out of the door fast enough – but his legs are entangled in yours and your arm is beneath his neck and it would be so easy to tip your head and taste those lips. But of course you don't.

You vacate the bed and the smell of his still lingers on you; you fear you will never get him out of your skin. But the shower has only been running two minutes when he joins you, and you find you're okay with that.

When Terry punches Ian you claw at your Dad without thought of consequence, and although he throws the gun against your face time and time again, all you can see is Ian and his bloody nose. You want to kiss him better; but the terror grips you and you cannot move.

After Terry throws Ian out he expects you to fuck the whore again, but you can't even look at her. Terry screws her instead as you sneak out the back door, spewing your guts out to join the litter in the yard. You don't go to find Ian, you don't really go anywhere; you are just avoiding the house until Terry falls asleep.

The bruises on your face are healing – the ones on your soul aren't. You have been shooting bullets at the same crude target for hours by the time Ian shows up. You don't even spare him a glance; the pieces of your heart are splattered all over your face and you can't show him that. He tells you he can't stop thinking about it and you want him to shut up. Because you don't know how to save him – the fact Terry hadn't killed you was a miracle, but he still hadn't decided what to do with Ian and the fear grips you tight. As Ian walks off you want to grab him and hold him and maybe for one second feel anything but this rot inside of you. Instead you lift your gun and shoot again. It is something you are good at.

You think Terry's plan will kill you – but while he is planning a wedding he can't be plotting revenge on Ian. You hold onto this thought every second – suddenly keeping Ian safe has become your whole existence and you will do whatever it takes. It is like a burning in your chest. You are not sure if the pregnancy excuse is truth, and you never ask.

You wish there was anywhere in the world you could run when Ian finds you again, because the look on his face is killing you. And he shoots questions at you that hit like bullets in your heart. When he is in your face you want to pull him closer, grab at his skin and claim his mouth with your own.

But it is too late for second kisses.

So instead you punch him, and you feel every blow. You remind yourself that each and every one is necessary to keep Ian safe. It makes you feel sick, rising like blood in your mouth.

After that you die completely inside, and you wonder why you were fighting for life in the first place. But then you close your eyes and see Ian's face and you remember.

The weeks pass in a blur and the wounds on your face have long healed by the time you pull on your tux. And just when you think that maybe it will be worth it, Ian barges through the door and you are a mess all over again.

You try to push him away, but the feel of him beneath your fingertips is sending sparks of life back to your heart, and when he steps closer you realise it is now or never.

So you kiss him. And when you kiss him you curse yourself, because why the hell hadn't you done this before? And he's still kissing you while he makes love to you and it is the best feeling in the fucking world. For when his lips are on you, you think that maybe things will be okay after all.

But of course, they will never be okay again.


End file.
